Page 135 of June First
I glance at him, waiting.
“What happened between you both was big.” Kip meets my eyes. A beat passes. Then he finishes, “Be bigger than it.”
Inhaling a sharp breath, I blink as he sends me a supportive smile, gives my shoulder another slap, then moves around me toward his vehicle.
The sound of his car door slamming shut has June’s head popping up as she glances back at me, biting her lip when she discovers Kip has left and it’s just me staring at her from across the yard.
She looks away, pretending to go back to gardening.
Be bigger than it.
I muster the strength to traipse across the lawn toward June.
Once I’m in earshot, she mumbles over her shoulder, “Dad’s working in the kitchen. Mom is grocery shopping.”
“I wanted to talk to you,” I say, stopping once I’m standing over her. June stills for a moment before continuing her task. “Please.”
“I’m busy, Brant. I told Mom I’d help with yard work today, so maybe another time.”
“Junebug.” She freezes again, her hand tightening around a tool. She doesn’t look up. The large hat masks whatever emotions are dancing across her face. I whisper softly, “I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry for leaving.
I’m sorry for shutting you out.
I’m sorry for kissing you back.
I’m sorry for loving you all wrong.
June clears her throat, falling back on her haunches. “I’m doing okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“I always worry about you.” Her long hair whips around the edges of her hat. I wish I could see her face. Read her. June wears her heart in her eyes. She always has. “You know I do.”
“Well, that’s not necessary. I’m fine.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
I pull my lips between my teeth, debating my next words. Sighing, I say, “That’s not what your dad told me yesterday. He said you’re having panic attacks. Nightmares. Your asthma is flaring.”
“He said that?” June gasps a little, finally rising to her feet. She doesn’t turn around right away. She ducks her head, drops the gardening tool, then wraps her arms around herself like a hug. When she pivots to face me, she pulls the hat off her head until her hair flutters free and her eyes shimmer with a glaze of tears, glowing light-blue in the summer haze. “He’s exaggerating.”
“He told me he found you crying on my bedroom floor, curled up in the fetal position.”
Her breath hitches, eyes widening. She shakes her head back and forth. “No, that’s… That was weeks ago. I’m better now. I’m fine.”
“June…” My hands reach out to cup her face, but she steps back. She retreats from me. “June, please. I only left because I thought I was hurting you by staying. I thought it’s what you needed, but…” I blow out a hard breath, dropping my arms to my sides. “I said I couldn’t be what you needed, but I lied. The truth is, I didn’t want to be what you needed. I didn’t think I was strong enough. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for that.”
June’s bottom lip trembles, but she doesn’t reach for me. Even as a tear slips, she remains rooted in place. “I’m fine,” she repeats, like she’s trying to convince herself.
“Okay.” I nod. “But if you’re ever not fine, I promise I’ll be there for you. I’ll be stronger next time.” My eyes rove over her face, her cheekbones tinged with sun, her full lips still quivering as she processes my words. “I’ll be as brave as you need me to be, June.”
She bites at her lip to stop the tremors, then shifts her attention away from me.
A thick silence falls between us as I gaze down at her. As she looks everywhere but at me. As she hugs herself again like she’s cold, but it’s eighty-five degrees out.
June finally nods her head, just slightly. “Thanks.”